Wine, Physics, and Song

Here’s a wine available (as of a few weeks ago) at LCBO that I can wholeheartedly recommend:  the 2006 Nipozzano  Chianti Rufina Riserva, produced by the Marchesi de Frescobaldi.  (Don’t know what LCBO is?  Lucky you.  But they deserve some credit for stocking this.)  This is the third vintage I’ve had of this wine, and I’ve been happy with all of them, but this one’s the best.  Dark fruits, soft full flavors but definite tannic backbone to keep it together, some nice chalky minerality behind it all showing up on the longish finish with some slight hints of mintiness, and hints of bitterness.  A clear, clean, leafy version of  “Tuscan funk” lurks barely perceptible behind this, perhaps ready to contribute some heady, perfumy, but unpredictable, notes with age.  In short, fairly complex, and mixing classic Chianti characteristics with notes–including the slightest, but pleasant, hints of greenness or vegetality—that are definitely characteristic of Cabernet.  I could imagine this wine repaying 5, perhaps even 10, years of cellaring by evolving into something stunning, but this is always unpredictable, the more so as I don’t have any experience cellaring this wine.  (Comments invited from anyone who does.)

Chianti Rufina is, if I recall correctly, one of three main zones for higher-end Chiantis, the largest being Chianti Classico covering a hilly area between Florence and Siena, with Chianti Montalbano and Chianti Rufina, each much smaller than the Classico area, being the other significant DOCG’s. (I’ve also had very good Chianti from the Colli Fiorentini, i.e. the “Florentine Hills”.)

Victor Hazan’s superb, extremely well written and observed 1982 book “Italian Wine” (yes, he’s Marcella’s husband) reports Frescobaldi as “the most celebrated producer” of the area, with the Nipozzano Chianti “nearly as fine” as their single-vineyard, limited production Montesodi, but “much more accessible in price and quantity”.  At $21.55 Canadian at LCBO, that “accessible in price” still seems right 27 years on, given the quality of the wine.  I acknowledge that’s a heck of a lot to pay for a bottle if you’re not a wine geek like me, but I’m much happier paying it for this wine than the $15 to $20 CDN I’ve paid for many a mediocre bottle from LCBO (or the $10-15 US I’ve paid for some mediocre bottles in the States).

I’ll probably raise expectations too high if I quote Victor Hazan further on Chianti Rufina: “A choice Rufina can match in authority, and sometimes surpass, Chianti Classico at its finest.    In character it is closest to a Chianti from Radda [...], making forceful first impressions that precede layer after layer of unfolding flavor.” One of my best wine experiences ever (involving quantum physics, as well, so perhaps I’ll post about it at some point) involved a wine from Radda, the Monte Vertine Riserva (I don’t even recall seeing the word Chianti on the bottle), from the early 1980s.  1981 sticks in mind but at this remove—I had the wine in Turin in 1995 or so—who knows.  And this wine, though less aged, reminds me of how that Monte Vertine might have tasted in its youth.  So I think Hazan is right on in this comparison, and it says good things.  Now this is just wine, for chrissake—if you want revelation, for less money you could go out and buy the remastered deluxe edition of John Coltrane’s A Love Supreme.   But still, good stuff.  If you have the money, and the inclination, and you’ve already got a copy of A Love Supreme, give it a try.  OK, try it even if you don’t have a copy of A Love Supreme—but you really should get one of those, too.

Notes on previous editions of this wine:

2001, half bottle with dinner at Mövenpick, Zurich airport, August 2005:  “Excellent—has dark fruits and some complexity/silkiness.  Balanced.”

2002 (tasted 2004 or 2005): “Even better than the 2001, probably.  Velvety, fairly rich, notes of cocoa in the nose.  Good with George’s deep fried “little pizzas” from Campania, with red pepper, cayenne, tomato sauce.  Stands up to it.  Hints of minerality.  Superb!”  George is my son;  he likes to cook on occasion, especially Italian.  Perhaps it’s his Italian heritage from my wife, who is 100 percent Italian-American; perhaps it’s  his food-obsessed (though not more so than your average Italian) heritage from my side of the family.

Over the past year or two I’ve had some mid-range Tuscan wines made from the Sangiovese grape that I’ve cellared for awhile, and it’s mostly been an enjoyable experience to see how these wines have evolved.  They typically develop a very characteristic bouquet that I’ve seen described as “forest floor,” reflecting scents that are a little bit mushroomy, a little leafy, a little earthy, but to some extent distinctive and found nowhere else.  I can imagine not everyone liking this bouquet, but I usually do.

A 2004 Fattoria di Lucignano Chianti from in the DOCG Colli Fiorentini tasted in Sept. 2006 was, according to my notes, excellent.  “Not very tannic but with some structure, but juicy, with a balance between flavors of red fruits and dark fruits, and minerally and leafy notes, a slight glyceriny smoothness and hints of caramel and chocolate cherries.   By April or May of 2009 it had a “nice bright crimson color, getting a brick-red edge,” and was “Delicious, medium-bodied, perfumy, with a typical aged-Sangiovese “forest floor”, “tuscan funk” aroma, “lifted” flavors of cherry, strawberry, and hints of leather.  Just what a Chianti that is evolving correctly ought to be. ”

A 1999 Barco Reale di Carmignano was a bit more elegant wine, but evolved similarly.   Young, it was a little darker and more tannic, but still balanced and enjoyable;  tasted a few time during the last few years, it was gaining clarity, perfume, and a more balanced and integrated version of the funky aged-sangiovese bouquet.

Monte Antico, a Sangiovese-based Tuscan wine produced very near Montalcino (of Brunello fame), is a reasonably priced (now around $10) wine that often ages very well—one of the best deals in Tuscany in a good year.  Around Christmas a few years back, I had the 1985 and it was nicely aged, mellow and with some sweet, chestnutty aromas with only hints of leafiness and shroominess, and nice cherry fruit flavors—not a blockbuster but definitely showing some of the benefits of aging.  The 1998, unfortunately, was not such a good year— in February 2009 it was “OK–sediment about to drop but still suspended—rather light-bodied and not complex–some typically Tuscan funky elements in the aroma”.  In summer 2007, I wrote “aromas not so developed–red fruit flavors, fine tannins, not so concentrated but sappy and with some complexity.  Nona think it smells bad!” [that must've been the hint of aged-sangiovese funkiness] “Red cherry, black cherry, a bit of tea, a hint of licorice.  Tasty!! Evolving to smoky, slightly barnyardy aromas.”  So maybe it was always slightly awkward and light, and is now going over the hill…or maybe it will open up again with more aging.  I have a few more bottles of various vintages back in the USA… and this is always one to pick up at the store and leave lying around in your basement to see what will happen.

I’ll cover some Sangiovese-based wines tasted at a younger age in a future post.

Not to be missed, an interview with Randall Grahm of Bonny Doon, creator of Le Cigare Volant and one of the most entertaining winery newsletters ever (although it has been over a decade since I was on their mailing list).  I still remember the time I tasted wine there, sharing the tasting bar with a biker who lauded the fact that Bonny Doon’s wines were the only ones that didn’t give him a headache…

Herbsaint is an excellent restaurant on St. Charles street in the central business district of New Orleans.  I have good memories of eating there a few years ago, and I had dinner there twice this week.  It has a bit more casual and hipper vibe than some of the top foodie meccas here, with white mosaic tile floor with black accents in the bar that looks like it might be original from the 20’s, cracks and all, large storefront plate-glass windows, a thick semigloss paint job on the walls and woodwork, off-white with the faintest avocado tinge, some dropped down lighting boxes hung from the ceiling, white tablecloths and comfortable oak chairs with a 20’s/30’s feel as well.  The place was packed on a Monday night—good sign.  I went with three friends.  We ate in the back room, not quite as nice an atmosphere as the main room, but fine.  My duck gumbo was intensely flavorful and hearty.  Olive oil seared Louisiana shrimp with tomato confit and breaded fried eggplant were delectable.  These were the best shrimp I’ve had on this trip to New Orleans—flavorful, extremely fresh, touched but not overwhelmed with some spices reminiscent of the New Orleans “barbecue” shrimp (but basically a grilled or sauted preparation, not swimming in the mildly spicy “barbecue” sauce).  The tomato confit was too sharply vinegary for my taste; the eggplant was quite good, though.  We drank a bottle of wine from Chateau de la Liquiere, at Faugeres in the Languedoc, recommended by the waiter over my initial choice of the Chave “Mon Coeur” Cotes du Rhone.  It was a good solid wine, reasonably tannic but not overbearing or rough, and fairly smooth—well flavored, with some golden leafy notes (reminded me of a California oak forest for some reason), but not complex.  My dinner companions raved over it more than I did—perhaps a bit of a sniffle was preventing me from fully appreciating it, or it maybe it was the $55 price tag.  It complemented the food well.  For dessert, I took one of the waiter’s top recomendations—the warm banana tart.  It was advice well taken—high-end and homey at the same time, with a delicious, well browned, thick crumbly tart crust, firmish, delicious filling somewhere between pecan pie filling and banana-flavored marzipan, and delectable seared glazed banana slices and mint leaves on top.  This and the shrimp were seriously delicious culinary achivements, the sort of stuff Michelin stars and such are made of.

Too tired to walk far from my hotel, the next night I went back thinking I’d have a small dinner.  I ended up getting the special Italian tasting menu (one each week, for the month of October), for $45.  This one started with a small antipasto of thinly sliced, excellent hard (but not tough!) salame, and some marinated diced eggplant (nice but not as good as the salame).  The Crab Gnudi were superb, gnocchi-like balls of crabmeat held together with ricotta and grilled or seared, served on swirls of delicious, intensely flavored olive oil (and some other delicious sauce that was a pale orange (something citrusy, perhaps?)).    The dish was less delicately flavored than I expected, but superb.  Herbsaint seems to have a style of “high-end heartiness”—perhaps it’s a Cajun-food influence: they tend toward big flavors, smokiness, searing along with a little innovation and fusion.  The main course certainly followed that model: baked striped bass with tomatoes, fennel, and basil was served in the paella pan it was baked in, and featured a chunk of firm, flavorful, skin-on bass in a smoky, thick tomato sauce in which big slices of fennel had braised to tenderness.  It was a lot for one person to eat, and if it had a flaw it might have been a bit of excessive smokiness, but was an extremely tasty take on what might be a pan-Mediterranean tradition of cooking fish over wood fires at sea’s edge—it called up stories of pine-smoke-scented bouillabaisses on the Riviera, and images of the Ligurian coast.  The server mentioned “a white cake” when I ordered the menu—the menu said Cassata Siciliana, usually a cake of ricotta and candied fruit flavored with liqueur—but it was indeed a square of white cake—high end Sara Lee, basically, with a bit of a caramel syrup and some tasty toasted hazelnuts on the cake.  The cake was velvety and fresh but not too special.  The chocolate salame, however, was excellent.

A Baumard “Cuvee Ancien” (a botrytized sweet wine, presumably a Chenin Blanc from the Loire, as Baumard also produce a Cote du Layon) was a good accompaniment to (and more interesting than) the cake, mellow and sweet but not cloying, and with nice flavor notes of dried orange peel, hints of brown sugar, and botrytis, though not a complex standout.  The main course went perfectly with a very good Commanderie de Peyrassol Rose 2007  from the mountains of Provence, though I suspect my other potential choice, a Barbera from an excellent producer, would also have gone well with it.  The Chateau d’Epire 2006 Savennieres, a firm, slightly steely and minerally Chenin Blanc based wine from the Loire, with a hint of honey and a balanced, smoothness, went perfectly with the crab (though it should have been served a touch colder).

For someone dining alone, the tables in the front window by the bar are a bonus—good seats from which to watch everyone having fun at the bar and in the restaurant, as well as a pleasant view of the outside seating and St. Charles street.

Overall, a very reliable, enjoyable place, well-appreciated by lots of locals, and with a very long and well chosen wine list, much more interesting wines by the glass than many places have, and a menu that is likely to deliver, if not guaranteed constant perfection, hearty, interesting, imaginative food and at least several dishes on each visit that will put you “in the zone.”

Had this wine last night with a casual dinner of posole and english-muffin pizzas prepared by a friend who’s visiting from the East Coast.  Not sure how much I paid for it, but it seems to go for around $10 on the internet.  The wine is 90% Carinyenya (Carignan), 10% Garnacha (Grenache), from the Denominaco’ d’Origen Montsant, in Catalunya.  I think I bought in on the basis of a shelf-slip quoting a Parker (or at least Wine Advocate—Parker’s publication which now employs other tasters/reviewers as well) rave.  Was a little apprehensive given that Carignan-based wines are sometimes a bit rough and one-dimensional.  Carignan was at one time widely planted in the Southwest of France and Northern Spain for it’s high production of simple country wines.  For awhile many producers in the Languedoc and southern France were grubbing up Carignan vines and replanting with grapes with more international appeal, like Cabernet and Syrah.  Some of the wines thus produced were good to excellent, but from my limited experience some were also just dark and inky but uncomplex, high in alcohol, and tiring to drink.  I’d guess there’s been a bit of return to roots in the area as some growers try to make more traditional grapes like Carignan give the best wines they can.  Anyway, Celler el Masroig has certainly succeeded in doing that here: this really is a perfect pizza wine, with the blackberry fruitiness that Carignan has at its best, tannins relatively smooth, not rough, and in the background, with a sappy, relatively smooth feel in the mouth that’s delicious, and can even handle the mild spice of a posole (traditional New Mexican hominy and chile-based stew, in this case a vegan version).  Not a Great Wine, perhaps, but that’s not the point—nor would a Great Wine be as enjoyable with a casual meal like this.  I doubt you’ll find a better Carignan anywhere, and at ten bucks the price is about right.

Sometimes a wine touted as a great pizza or barbecue wine, a relatively uncomplicated, easy-drinking red, can turn out to be just boring, a bit rough, or tiring—not necessarily the fault of the touter, it may just depend on the exact food pairing; they may have had it with something that somehow cut, or complemented, the tannin and let the flavor emerge.  I don’t think you’ll have that problem with this baby, though—if it can handle pizza and posole, it should go with just about any food you’d normally want to serve an uncomplicated, fruity, southern European wine with—like burgers, barbecue, or for that matter, a cheese (like the yummy Cotswold with chives that our friend brought along to end the meal with).

Cheers!

Howard